


black bloods

by avapacifica



Series: October Writing Challenge 2019 [29]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Car Accidents, Crazy Henry Bowers, Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Police, Resurrection, Villains, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 22:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avapacifica/pseuds/avapacifica
Summary: henry leaves Derry before being killed, with none other than Patrick Hockstetter as his ride. but when the Losers defeat Pennywise elsewhere, he suffers his own consequence





	black bloods

**Author's Note:**

> Day 29: Bloodstain  
I wrote this opening night of chapter 2 because i legitimately forgot Henry died. Hope you enjoy the mess that came from that.

Patrick’s body goes limp next to him and Henry knows, he fucking  _ knows, _ those losers are behind this. He feels the car start to drift off the empty highway they were driving on, and Patrick’s rotting hands fall off the wheel, tumbling to his side. 

Henry’s eyes are blank as they crash into the barrier between the roads and the expansive forest beyond. As they collide with the metal a screeching sound fills Henry’s ears and his chest hits the steering wheel, sending pain shooting through his entire body. The car comes to a shuddering stop, luckily not too damaged, (if not damaged means the bare minimum of being able to exit the car).

Which he does. Eventually. But he needs a few minutes to take this in.

The door opens with barely any resistance and Henry stumbles out, chasing a cough he can’t quite reach. That wheezing bastard must have hit something bad, Henry knows he should’ve aimed a few inches higher. Unfortunately, he was still getting over the drowsiness of the heavy medication the hospital had given him to turn him into a vegetable. He sits on the edge of the car, giving up on the coughing and ignoring the air trapped in his chest. 

He circles the car and opens the door to Patrick. His hands find their way under the dead boys arms, dragging him out of the smoking car. He brings him over the barrier and drops him to the ground, getting his first good look at Patrick’s face since the crash. His white eyes have closed, Henry knows there won’t be a second resurrection. A huge grin plays on his lips, the one that Patrick was famous for, the one that Henry hasn’t  _ truly  _ seen in 27 years, not the whole time he was being driven around. Black ooze is leaking from his orifices, and Henry notices it’s stained his hands. He tries to wipe it on his state given pants, but it’s already embedded in his skin.

A car races by the pair and the group inside spares a glance at the crashed vehicle. It was a family of four, but apparently wherever they’re going is more important than helping their fellow man, as they make no indication of stopping. Lucky Henry. 

It’s a mistake he can’t make again though, so before bringing Patrick into the woods he makes sure there are no other cars in the distance, ready to pass them by. When he’s absolutely sure he goes back to the body and lifts the teen to his chest, bringing him into the underbrush, out of sight. One of the arms breaks, he can feel the skin tearing. More of the fucked up blood spills onto his arms, enough to the point where it’s not worth trying to clean. 

Absentmindedly, though you’d think this wouldn’t be a time for getting lost in your thoughts, Henry wanders back to the stolen car. The smoke billowing from under the hood has only thickened. The back doors are still able to be pried open, despite the back of the car being somehow more wrecked than the front. He didn’t know why he was fighting to get in until the door popped open and a final gift from his clown friend lay on the vinyl seats: a shovel, shiny like plastic to the point where Henry hits it, wondering if it truly was, but his rapping only makes a vibrating metallic sound. It’s real alright. He brings it out of the car, letting it drag in the dirt. 

The car catches on fire behind him. He doesn’t blink.

There’s no way Patrick could really be looking at something, but his cold eyes are fixed upon a spot, and they’re disturbingly open. It’s surrounded by thick trees and wouldn’t easily be spotted. It’s a good a place as any, so that’s where he starts digging. He makes the hole deep, so deep. But mostly long. Hockstetter was always a tall kid, wouldn’t want him to be squished in his grave. 

The soil eventually turns to clay, a grayish white color. Sorta reminds Henry of the maggots crawling out of his friends face.

Once satisfied with the depth and length, he lays Patrick down gently, or as gently as he’s able. Though he never got the chance, Henry always thought Patrick would’ve visited him at Juniper Hill. The idea came from nowhere, or maybe from something, because in it’s own way it came true. And while he knows this isn’t his body, or really even It’s version of his body anymore, it still deserves some respect from Henry, whatever that means. 

“Thanks for the ride.” It’s all he tells the corpse. He’s never been one for long speeches, or emotions, anything like that really. That phrase sums it up, and if Patrick were here, Henry thinks he would get it too. He always understood what Henry was trying to say, maybe a little too well, but enough nonetheless. His eyes are closed again, if Henry thinks about it too long his head is going to hurt.

As he’s walking away, Henry picks at his hands, trying to rid the black from them, not having any real motivation to do so, but trying anyways. He walks the highway, not attempting to steal a car, because he knows he doesn’t have to. It’s over. And when the cops come to take him away he keeps that very thought in mind. 

They set their forensic man on the uniform Henry had been wearing, but when nothing shows up for the mark that just won’t go away, they don’t give it another thought. There’s no point calling in someone better. They have no evidence that Henry hurt anyone else, no one cared that he stained his suit. He’s dead now, it’s not like anyone else will be wearing it. 

That last bit of Hockstetter goes into an evidence lockup, but the blood on Henry’s hands? That stays with him until the chair. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are always appreciated, feedback makes my day!


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